The Back-in-Texas To Do List

At some point soon, I will actually end this blog...and begin another...It's a bit hard to let go. A voicemail from my former housemate A. on Sunday made me a little sad and full of saudade. Then there are the "scraps" left by Brazilian friends on Orkut (the most popular online social network in Brazil) and the updates from former colleagues. For example, there was some money left-over from the photo project we did with the kids and I donated it to one of the youth programs. They just used some of it to take the youth to the movies. For some of the teenagers, this was their first time seeing a film in the theater. Awesome. Wish I could have been there with them.

However, given that I'm no longer in Brazil, I'm not exactly living in some sort of Brazilian quotidian anymore. Although, this morning when I tried to use my Spanish to offer the Mexican house painter some water with ice, it certainly sounded like I was still lost in the Portuguese language. The guy looked at me with a bemused expression and kept saying, "It's cool, it's cool. Don't worry" as I mourned my inability in Portuguese-heavy Portoñol (or is it Portunhol?) to say things the way I wanted.

So, that's one thing on my Back-in-Texas To Do list: recover my Spanish!

Luckily, I am the type of person who likes to add things to my Back-in-Texas To Do list that are easy to check off that list. So far so good.

#1 Graduate
I checked that off the list about 10 days ago, walked across the stage during two different graduations (the University of Texas Graduate School graduation and the University of Texas School of Social Work graduation), got hooded, got handed pieces of paper saying that they'd mail me my diploma, got pictures taken, enjoyed the hugs and love and attention of family and friends, and felt thoroughly content to be back in Texas.

The two years it took to get my Master's in Science in Social Work were long and hard and fun and full of ridiculous amounts of learning and now, from a distance of a few weeks, seem to have absolutely flown by. I still haven't completely grasped that I'm no longer a student. I get to temporarily be in fun stage called, "Being done" where I still feel somewhat protected from the realities of what that actually means.

#2 Go to the Beach
Luckily, I am not yet able to check this off the list because I'm still here in South Padre Island enjoying a real vacation with my boyfriend. I'm savoring the "Being done" stage, while I am still in it. Biking, swimming, strolling down the sea shore, eating lots of fresh fruit, hanging out with my boyfriend's family that live nearby, reading all the New Yorkers that arrived when I was in Brazil. [Note: This is my second time at the beach this year. The last time was in the beautiful state of Santa Catarina. As gorgeous as it was, I unfortunately came down with pneumonia. This time my plan includes not getting sick. I hope to abide by that.]

Ah, isn't the beach beautiful? Before moving to Texas, I didn't fully grasp that the state has beaches, and living here, I am so grateful that it does.

#3 Begin the Job-Search
This will begin in earnest next week when I'm back in Austin.

The last time I searched for a job, I was fairly indiscriminate. It was March of 2005. I had recently moved to Austin from France, sans either gainful employment or an apartment to call my own. It took about a month, during which I filled out applications for any possible job, ranging from secretarial work to working at Einstein's Bagels. I would have worked about anywhere that would take me, except for perhaps a fast food restaurant. And no, Einstein's Bagels did not call me back for an interview. It appears that my college degree placed me in an odd no-man's land, either overqualified or underqualified for the task at hand. Luckily, an idealistic law firm took a chance on me based on being impressed by my Brown University degree, my ability to speak Spanish (darnit, I've got to get that ability back) and my Nantucket roots, and took me on board. They forever changed my impressions about lawyers, client advocacy and about what my life's work might entail. From there I ended up in Social Work school. From there I ended up in southern Brazil in an amazing internship with youth in conflict with the law.

This time around, the job search feels like a much weightier thing, sure to inspire a few existential crises along the way, as I try to find where I belong. Any hints, tips, suggestions, ideas as to how to go about this process are very welcomed!

And now, back to taking it easy for a few more days...ah, self-care, what a lovely concept that's even better in practice.

Reasons Why I Love Austin, Texas

Packing in Anticipation of How Much I Dislike Packing

Today, I am re-visiting one of my New Year's resolutions:

* Be 95% packed and ready to go a few days before my flight leaves for Brazil

Packing is always so much more overwhelming than I anticipate. Even when I anticipate that it will be bad.

For the past week I have been slowly slogging away at it, in between wonderful visits with old and new friends, visiting new places (such as Bossa Nova, where I tried a fabulous fruit smoothie with ginger), re-visiting old ones (Kerbey Lane on South Lamar), seeing movies (Avatar)...

Making a pile of "potential" clothes for Brazil and then dividing them in half. Taking a few more out of the pile the next day. Then adding a t-shirt (or two) I just had to buy from Target.

Slowly checking things off my list of things to buy: shampoo & conditioner, Advil, Uno (when it doubt, teach kids how to play cards), Extra Strength Hua Tuo Medicated Plasters, Emergen-C and God knows what else.

Figuring out what art supplies, jewelry, books, photographs I deemed impossible to live without during the next for months (I have some interesting ideas of "necessary" items).

And so after returning from a lovely evening of catching up with two girlfriends, I decided it was time to see if the massive pile of stuff accumulating on the futon would fit in my suitcases...I rolled up all the shirts army-style, just as a friend returning from boot camp taught me. I started feeling hopeful.

And, amazingly, everything fit. With room to spare. Woo hoo!

Even my beloved yoga mat is in there, wedged diagonally, taking up a lot of space in the larger suitcase. It looks pretty reasonable considering how long I'll be gone.

Now, the reality check is that there is a bit more to add. And I haven't weighed the bags yet either. I also feel like a total overly prepared dork. Still, I'm feeling some weight off my shoulders as I anticipate my last 4 days in Austin.

Do Frito Pies Translate Well into Portuguese?

So, I'm sitting in the back room of the Spider House Cafe enjoying a vegetarian Frito pie and thinking that this certainly falls into the list of dishes I'll miss when I fly over 5,000 miles southeast of Austin. This is just an assumption, but I don't expect to find this delicacy in other countries.

The cafe is cozy and packed. And I'm thrilled that I snagged a booth with access to an outlet. The guy in the booth next to me is apologetically handing me his computer cord to plug in underneath my table. "Oh, of course it's no problem," I say. I'm reacting oh-so graciously as if the table and the power to bequeath access to electrical outlets are actually mine.

I'm meeting Estrela here. She's one of the reasons I'm certain that things will turn out well in Brazil. If folks I meet in PoA* are only half as open, kind and welcoming as she is, then I will fare well. And considering that she concludes her research work here and returns to PoA just a few weeks after I arrive, I know I'm in luck (her sweet, well-behaved son may not agree as he's told her he'd prefer to remain another month in Austin).

Estrela and I met when we were both wearing short sleeves and could actually sit outside because the oppressive summer had subsided. I recall this when I see her walking into the room wearing layers of clothing. We greet each other with a hug and a cheek kiss. I'm still trying to figure out how many kisses is the appropriate number.

The barista delivers her hot chocolate with whipped cream on top and I sip, a little enviously, from my Earl Grey, thinking perhaps I should have ordered what she did.

We begin our conversation in English. Estrela informs me that she's spoken with a friend of hers in PoA, who agreed to let me stay with her while I find a place to live. How cool is that?! For a little bit, her telling me this that it's not sinking in. It just seems too nice. And then, my next thought is that I can't wait to let me granny know and assuage her fears a little (my dad told me that my granny told him that she was worried that I didn't have a place to live yet).

I often have an innate reaction to just want to do it all on my own. That's what I did when I spent an undergraduate semester in Madrid. No student halls or host families for me. Nope, I trekked through the city and stood in lines to look at apartments for rent. One landlord told me not to even bother looking at the place because he wouldn't rent to me. I wasn't Spanish and didn't have a job. Who cared about bank statements if I could just hightail it out of the country without a trace. It was about that time that I remember crying on the phone to my mother outside a sandwich shop. Several days, one Spanish bank account, one slow read of the lease (with dictionary) and a three-month deposit later, I had the keys to my own little attic apartment. Sure, you couldn't stand up straight in most areas of the room, but from the balcony you could see the opera house and watch the bats fly at dusk.

This time though I don't feel the need to go it alone. I feel comforted to have kind people there from the start to help me as I try to prepare for and navigate my journey. In this case these people now include Estrela's friend and her little dog. And I'm grateful.

Estrela and I continue talking and our primary language morphs slowly into Portuguese. I'm realizing that I do need to revisit that old grammar book from my undergraduate class, as I falter over various tenses. We're talking about poverty here and poverty there. She's telling me about the youth that live under the bridge of a major road in PoA. I have these images of what she's describing but they feel vague. "What do you do when you ask them for money?" I ask.

"I try to give them snacks, but sometimes when I look into their eyes, it depends what I see there. Sometimes I give money."

"I keep bottles of water in my car for the homeless guys I see on the street," I say, "Sometimes they are happy with that offering, sometimes not. Mainly it's just the gesture I guess. It's hard."

I realize most of the homeless guys on street corners here are old, grizzled dudes. Usually they're totally sweet to me and I am sympathetic. But, how would I react if it was a child? I've seen kids begging in India, but I wonder if it would hit me more to see it here where I don't expect it. Of course, almost 1 in 5 children lives in poverty in the US, according to the National Center for Children in Poverty but that takes us back to the point that what poverty looks like here is not what it looks like elsewhere.

Having made it through a year and a half of a social work education, I've become so much more sensitive to this kind of thing (just ask my boyfriend about my social work-flavored running commentary about any movie or TV show we happen to watch together). Something tells me that what I see in PoA is going to feel so much more intense than whatever I've experienced in the past. Especially because I'm likely to see all this in the kids I'll be working with. Up close.

The barrista comes by the table and and asks if she can take away the remnants of my Frito pie. I nod and say, "Thank you."

"I don't exactly know what to expect, but I imagine that I'm going to be shocked," I tell Estrela.

"Well then, at least you're prepared," she replies with a smile.

Our conversation turns to the frustrations of university parking and tickets. We get up to leave, putting our clothing layers back on and our empty mugs in the bucket by the condiments before we head out the door.

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*I've noticed that people from Porto Alegre keep referring to the city as PoA in e-mails and it looks kind of cool to me, so I think I shall follow suite.